As we all know, it can be challenging to keep up in today's world. The pace is fast, the demands high - 60 hour work weeks, pressure to keep up on personal and creative projects, the cleaning and cooking! No time for the ukulele! No time to do yoga! No time to ____! And the blog is, unfortunately, an item on that list of endless to-do's.
Actually, I've been writing but not finishing; five of the last nine posts are still in draft stage, which is somewhat of a record for me. At any rate, the final two chapters of the GalactiCon are all written and were two weeks ago before I went on vacation, but require editing that I have not had time for. Hence, they remain unpublished, delayed, thereby assured of becoming as irrelevant as possible, by being of less interest to the reader, as the event recedes into the dim reaches of the past. Time flies.
So, to atone for my tardiness, I give you some Vonnegut that I read poolside while on said vacation (Vegas, baby). This is from Bluebeard, circa 1987. The main character and narrator is an painter and illustrator, and he articulates a feeling I've had about artist as it relates to talent and fame:
I was obviously born to draw better than most people, just as [those writers] were obviously born to tell stories better than most people can. Other people are obviously born to sing and dance or explain the stars in the sky or do magic tricks or be great leaders or athletes, and so on.
I think that could go back to the time when people had to live in small groups of relatives - maybe fifty or sixty people at the most. And evolution or God or whatever arranged things genetically, to keep the little families going, to cheer them up, so that they could all have somebody to tell stories around the campfire at night, and somebody else to paint pictures on the walls of the caves, and somebody else who wasn't afraid of anything and so on.
That's what I think. And of course a scheme like that doesn't make sense anymore, because simply moderate giftedness has been made worthless by the printing press and radio and television and satellites and all that. A moderately gifted person who would have been a community treasure a thousand years ago has to give up, has to go into some other line of work, since modern communication put him or her into daily competition with nothing but the world's champions.
The point is well made by this point, but I'll include the rest of the section because it's quite funny.
The entire planet can get along nicely now with maybe a dozen champion performers in each area of human giftedness. A moderately gifted person has to keep his or her gifts all bottled up until, in a manner of speaking, he or she gets drunk at a wedding and tap dances on the coffee table like Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers. We have a name for him or her. We call him or her an "exhibitionist."
How do we reward such an exhibitionist? We say to him or her the next morning, "Wow! Were you ever drunk last night!"
That's why I am so for folk music and art and the like, as well as for getting drunk and tap dancing on tables during weddings. I think I'd have been really valued in my tribe, and I bet I'd have even been well-known at the summer and winter gatherings of the tribes - I'm a funny comedienne, a great storyteller, a fun musician, an entertaining dancer and so on...when the group size is only about 200. More than that, there's usually someone better than me. Still, on I go, posting on a blog with a potential readership of billions. Why not?
Actually, I've been writing but not finishing; five of the last nine posts are still in draft stage, which is somewhat of a record for me. At any rate, the final two chapters of the GalactiCon are all written and were two weeks ago before I went on vacation, but require editing that I have not had time for. Hence, they remain unpublished, delayed, thereby assured of becoming as irrelevant as possible, by being of less interest to the reader, as the event recedes into the dim reaches of the past. Time flies.
So, to atone for my tardiness, I give you some Vonnegut that I read poolside while on said vacation (Vegas, baby). This is from Bluebeard, circa 1987. The main character and narrator is an painter and illustrator, and he articulates a feeling I've had about artist as it relates to talent and fame:
I was obviously born to draw better than most people, just as [those writers] were obviously born to tell stories better than most people can. Other people are obviously born to sing and dance or explain the stars in the sky or do magic tricks or be great leaders or athletes, and so on.
I think that could go back to the time when people had to live in small groups of relatives - maybe fifty or sixty people at the most. And evolution or God or whatever arranged things genetically, to keep the little families going, to cheer them up, so that they could all have somebody to tell stories around the campfire at night, and somebody else to paint pictures on the walls of the caves, and somebody else who wasn't afraid of anything and so on.
That's what I think. And of course a scheme like that doesn't make sense anymore, because simply moderate giftedness has been made worthless by the printing press and radio and television and satellites and all that. A moderately gifted person who would have been a community treasure a thousand years ago has to give up, has to go into some other line of work, since modern communication put him or her into daily competition with nothing but the world's champions.
The point is well made by this point, but I'll include the rest of the section because it's quite funny.
The entire planet can get along nicely now with maybe a dozen champion performers in each area of human giftedness. A moderately gifted person has to keep his or her gifts all bottled up until, in a manner of speaking, he or she gets drunk at a wedding and tap dances on the coffee table like Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers. We have a name for him or her. We call him or her an "exhibitionist."
How do we reward such an exhibitionist? We say to him or her the next morning, "Wow! Were you ever drunk last night!"
That's why I am so for folk music and art and the like, as well as for getting drunk and tap dancing on tables during weddings. I think I'd have been really valued in my tribe, and I bet I'd have even been well-known at the summer and winter gatherings of the tribes - I'm a funny comedienne, a great storyteller, a fun musician, an entertaining dancer and so on...when the group size is only about 200. More than that, there's usually someone better than me. Still, on I go, posting on a blog with a potential readership of billions. Why not?
How interesting! I've often thought about it but never could express it so well. An example of someone being better than me at expressing himself. I enjoy your blog even though I rate Jane Austen as a better writer! Thanks for all your great insights!
ReplyDeleteYou should read some Vonnegut! Thanks for this insight.
ReplyDelete